


Brosca: An Epic Poem

by Keolah



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Epic Poetry, Gen, alliterative verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Keolah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the darkened depths    of dwarven Dust Town<br/>a babe was born    with a branded face<br/>casteless and cast out    no crib for the child<br/>Orzammar's ancestors    turned away their eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Dust

In the darkened depths    of dwarven Dust Town  
a babe was born    with a branded face  
casteless and cast out    no crib for the child  
Orzammar's ancestors    turned away their eyes.

Brosca, the brat-child    of bitter Kalah,  
with legs like lashes    running with Leske,  
and flitting fingers    quick and fearless  
collecting coin    for the shade-slinking Carta.

Red-haired Rica,    bedecked with rubies,  
his sister, seeking    a son to bear  
for a high-born house    to raise up their heads.  
Beraht would claim blood    a brother to Kalah,  
the nobles need never    know of the lie,  
for records weren't written    of the Paragons' rejects.

Beraht bade Brosca    for winning of bets  
to fix a fight    and determine the finish.  
The Proving-Place    whose purpose was honor  
loomed over lava    in blazing light,  
Stone's blood searing    a fiery sight.

A Warden was watching,    waiting in the stands,  
a human whose height    hovered o'er Brosca,  
with a bristly beard    and belts a-plenty.  
Duncan, he declared,    greeting the dust-dweller.  
Defender against darkness    visiting the dwarf-home.

In the rooms of the ring-fighters    'round the arena,  
a dwarf lay drunken,    their destined victor.  
Seeing him sprawling    unable to stand,  
Boldly Brosca    brandished his weapons  
and entered the arena    in stolen armor.

The champions charged out    to challenge the imposter,  
and Brosca's blade    shone like a brand,  
swinging and stinging,    jabbing and stabbing.  
Fighting fiercely,    a frenzied hornet,  
the Carta-thug conquered    with strength and courage.

The worthiest warrior    witnessed the audience,  
pride of the Paragons    Proving his glory,  
until, interrupted    came into the arena,  
stumbling in stupor    the stolen-from drunkard.

The fight-master flailed    and demanded his face.  
Brazen Brosca    revealed his brand.  
They declared their disdain,    the dwarven-folk railed,  
but Brosca boasted,    I was born with no house,  
no caste and no claim.    Yet I came and rose up  
from the dark and the dust    and defeated you all!

They cornered him, captured him,    clapped him in chains.  
No judge and no jury    would free him from jail.  
But darkspawn-destroyer    honorable Duncan  
stepped in and suggested    a way to the surface.  
Recruiting the rogue    to take the risks  
for Brosca to become    a battle-worn Warden.

No refusal nor reservation    but a thought of Rica,  
in danger in Dust Town,    he could not defend her.  
Her suitor must save    his fire-haired sister.

The way to the Wardens    lay waiting before him.  
The path led past    the statues of Paragons,  
casting their contempt    on the heir of criminals  
but the guards at the gate    let the Grey Wardens go.

Brosca stood blinking    at blinding sunlight,  
the sky-lamp staring    in the steel-bright expanse,  
open and empty    no ceiling overhead,  
a place of possibility    free from the Paragons.


	2. The Korcari Wilds

'Cross mountains and moorland    meadows and streams  
a duster departed    into his destiny  
away from Orzammar    and the ancestors' eyes.  
Sun-streaked snow    so smooth and white,  
covered the caps    with coldness and light.  
Firs in the forest    fresh with needles,  
let sunbeams stream    in scintillating shafts,  
and babbling brooks    wet Brosca's boots  
as he waded the waters    on his way to the Wardens.

The Wardens were waiting    in the wilds at Ostagar,  
forgotten fortress    of fights long past.  
Strong stood the stone    through storms and war,  
the dwarven design    still standing defiant.

Cailan the King    came and greeted them,  
golden-haired, golden-clad    glassy-eyed gazing  
in wonder at the Wardens    wide and beaming,  
a royal welcome    for a wretched recruit.

Brosca was beckoned    by the baying of hounds.  
Dogs weren't dreamt of    down in the dwarf-home.  
A whimpering war-dog    caught the Warden's eye,  
a mighty mabari    meek with sickness.  
The kennel-master called for    a cure from the wilds,  
for the dog drank of blood    when a blight-beast was bitten.

A pair of potentials    were trying their prospects.  
Jory the jouster    had journeyed from Highever,  
as a Warden to watch over    his wife and child.  
Daveth of Denerim    discovered at thievery,  
picking a pocket,    and probably would hang,  
but claimed and conscripted    called to the Wardens.

Joking and jesting,    the junior member  
Alistair the impudent    annoyed a mage.  
Templar-trainee    timely-recruited,  
now whetting his wit    among the Grey Wardens.  
He'd guide them going    through green-brown wilds  
for the Joining ceremony    done since their genesis,  
when first they frantically    fought the fetid ones.

Four Wardens went walking    out into the wilds.  
Duncan decreed    to battle the darkspawn,  
blood running black    into their bottles,  
carefully collected,    kept safe for their Joining.

Where weed-choked waters    wandered sluggish,  
in slow and stinking    sickly swampland,  
a blossom bloomed    with a blood-red center  
to heal the hound    and make him healthy.

Now the recruits were    required to retrieve  
time-lost treaties    from a broken tower  
past-years' promises    to provide assistance  
in care and cooperation    to avert a cataclysm.

But the outpost was empty    the articles absent.  
A woman was watching    a Witch of the Wilds  
declared Daveth.    Disdainful Morrigan,  
bosom half bared    clad like a barbarian,  
tittered and teased    taunting the travellers.  
Deducing the dwarf    sought the displaced documents,  
Morrigan mentioned    her mysterious mother  
had taken the treaties    and told them to come.

A cackling crone    half-crazed and confusing,  
ranted riddles,    revealed warnings:  
The dread-born doom-bringers    deemed disaster,  
a guarantee    for greater grief.  
Their precious papers    passed back to them,  
they headed out    from the hut on the heath.


	3. The Joining

Nearing nightfall    now the new ones  
entered again    the outpost of Ostagar.  
The cure to the kennel,    and came they to Duncan.

Alistair announced    apostates out there,  
wicked witches    without warrant,  
not serving the Circle    nor spell-sentry supervised,  
but Duncan told him    You've turned from the templars.  
Your duty is darkspawn,    Duncan declared.

To a time-worn temple    the Wardens together  
came to connect    by custom of ages  
to drink defilement    and master the darkness.  
A glistening goblet    sat before the group,  
with bitter blood    black and blighted,  
sacrament of sacrifice    solemn and somber.

Daveth drank down    the draught of darkness  
and coughing collapsed,    clutching his throat  
'til feverish fire    faded forever,  
eyes looked lifelessly    and limbs went limp.

Jory was jarred    and felt this not just,  
frantically fumbling    fearing his fate  
trembling in terror    tried to attack,  
whipping his weapon    at the Warden-Commander.  
Duncan then drew    his dark-slaying dagger  
and evaded his effort,    in sorrow ended.

Brosca stood staring    and steeled his heart,  
stepped up and snatched    the silver cup.  
A terrible taste    touching his tongue,  
coursing and clawing    and clouding his mind.

In darkling dreams    a dragon raged,  
crazed and corrupted    curdling the blood.  
Brosca felt bared    as never before,  
against the invader    inside of himself.  
A war in the mind    the wish of each warden  
praying for victory    to vanquish this villain,  
fighting first    in force of life.

But Brosca was strong    and standing stalwart  
the master of his mind    mighty as the Stone.  
He inhaled deeply    and opened his eyes.  
He woke, welcomed    as a wide-eyed Warden,  
shaken by shadows    shackling his being,  
but alive and unbroken,    the brand-born ascended.

In the turning of twilight    the terror-born came,  
swarming and storming    teeming and screaming.  
The newest Wardens    needed to now  
climb the spire    and send a signal  
to stalwart Loghain    liege of the linden-port,  
chill-stream champion,    challenger of tyrants.

The panicked troops    by the plighted tower  
turned to Brosca    in tremulous hope.  
The blight-spawn breached    the looming bastion,  
spewing up through the cellar    in blackened spume.

Brosca went forth    beside his blade-brother  
the edifice entered,    ascending the floors,  
fighting past fire    frantic and driven,  
stifled in smoke    stinging the eyes,  
toiling and breathless    to the top of the tower.

A bulky beast    with bloody maw  
turned to face    the Wardens twain.  
The angry ogre,    its feast interrupted,  
roared in rage    and raised its fists.

Boldly Brosca    slashed his blade.  
Alistair shouted,    his shield shone.  
Back and forth    they fought the fiend.  
In gargantuan grip    it grappled Alistair,  
and hurled the Warden    against the wall.

Behind it Brosca,    blade in hand,  
leapt up the looming    life-blighter's back.  
He thrust his sword-point    through to its throat.  
The gurgling gargantua    crashed to the ground.  
Gushing and dripping,    dying and dead.

The door slammed open    and darkspawn drove in.  
Arrows shooting,    sheering, shrouding.  
piercing painful    with jagged points.  
In fading sight    a fleeting figure,  
with wings to carry    the wounded Wardens,  
taking them away    from their towering tomb.


End file.
